The Enigma of Patrick Star
by squiddysponge
Summary: Pearl's unexpected disappearance triggers a series of events that will forever change Bikini Bottom.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:  
**

_August 1996_

* * *

Most jellyfish, SpongeBob knows, have three round spots on their bulbous pink backs. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he'll see one with four; very rarely does he see five.

Floating through the floral sky high above a grassy crest, SpongeBob could tell that this one was different. Considerably larger than the others nearby, the jellyfish was an unusually pale shade of pink; the leis of the late summer sky were clearly visible through its translucent skin. Upon its smooth back he could count not five but _seven_ spots gleaming in the sunlight.

Without question it was the finest specimen SpongeBob had ever seen.

Though his tiny legs ached and the glaring sunlight blinded him through cheap safety glasses, he ran as fast as he could up the hill and swiped upwards.

It was to no avail. The seven-spotted jellyfish drifted beyond SpongeBob's eager reach, its thin tentacles pulsing lazily in the stagnant summer tide.

Determined, he jumped as high as he could and forcefully brought his net down. SpongeBob stumbled. Feeling his legs fly out from under him, he fell down the hill, net falling out of his hand and thick safety glasses painfully crushing against his face. Nearby, he heard Patrick laugh, and quickly pushed himself off the ground to join his friend.

Patrick, empty net in hand, stood below the grassy crest. On his pointy head he wore a small sailor hat. "Caught one yet?" SpongeBob asked, dusting off his trousers. He pushed his glassed up his nose.

Patrick glared. "No," he said, and crossed his arms.

"Aw, don't worry, pal," said SpongeBob. He patted his friend on the back. "You'll catch one."

Patrick's stared down at his feet. "This is stupid." He threw his net to the ground.

"Oh, Pat," SpongeBob said. "You'll get one soon. I'm sure of it." He smiled encouragingly.

"You're just getting lucky! It's not fair."

SpongeBob paused. "I guess," he muttered. So far that day he had caught six different jellyfish—and the same one twice. He wouldn't exactly say that was luck. "Why don't you wait over there," SpongeBob suggested, pointing to a hill behind them. It was absolutely crawling with jellyfish.

"Fine," Patrick said, and strutted off. It was a hot day, and SpongeBob's thin t-shirt stuck to his small square frame. He watched enviously as Patrick, who was shirtless, came to a stop on top of the crest. It was SpongeBob's mother who had made him wear a shirt in the first place; she now sat on a picnic blanket a little ways off, lost in a crime mystery novel. SpongeBob, deciding to join her, settled himself on the rough plaid sheet. He grabbed a sandwich from the small container his mother had brought and turned to watch his friend.

Patrick, it seemed, was not making much progress. He was currently banging his net on the rock beside the hill in frustration. SpongeBob sighed and took a bite of his sandwich. When would he ever learn? The commotion would only scare the jellyfish, not attract them.

Through a small hole in the rock SpongeBob spotted a movement. Something was squirming within the rock! "Patrick, look!" he hollered. If the something was a jellyfish, it would be an easy catch.

Patrick turned to see the beginning of what looked like a jellyfish emerge from the rock. SpongeBob heard him cry out in delight as he slapped his net over the small hole from which it came. Soon enough, his net was filled with a small, pink creature.

SpongeBob threw his sandwich down and ran over to his friend. "Patrick! You caught one!" he panted. Patrick giggled, and held up his net for SpongeBob to see. He gasped.

Within it was the seven-spotted jellyfish.

Patrick laughed in delight as it floated within his closed net. "Hey, good job, Patrick," said SpongeBob weakly. Of course, he thought bitterly, it _would_ be Patrick who'd catch this beautiful creature—and all because of luck, too. He watched sullenly as the starfish cooed at the indifferent fish.

SpongeBob heard his mother approach. "Boys," she said, her voice soft, "We should head out now." She placed a hand on her son's forehead.

"But Mrs. SquarePants, I don't wanna!"

"Oh, Patrick, sweetie, don't be silly." She reached out to grab the hand of the young starfish, but Patrick pulled away, his grip on his net visibly tightening. Mrs. SquarePants sighed.

"Can I bring the jellyfish?" Patrick asked, staring lovingly at the small creature inside.

"I'm afraid you can't, honey," she said. "It is quite a lovely one, though, isn't it?" Patrick glowered, and slowly lowered his net. "Let it go, and then maybe you or SpongeBob will catch it next time!" She smiled.

"But it's mine." Patrick said dully. "I don't want SpongeBob to catch it."

Mrs. SquarePants faltered. "Oh. Honey. I'm sure he'll let you have it next time, now won't you, SpongeBob?" she asked.

"Sure, Mom," he muttered. He had no intention of just letting his friend catch such a wonderful jellyfish. It just wasn't fair. He met Patrick's eyes. They were narrowed. Defensive.

His mother took his hand. "Come on now, boys," she sang, and pulled SpongeBob away. He turned back to see Patrick staring at the jellyfish in rapt attention.

It was only when he reached the boat-mobile that Patrick finally appeared by his side. "So…you released him?" SpongeBob asked uncertainly as his friend quietly buckled his seat belt.

"He's a free now."

SpongeBob brightened. "Ah, well! Next time, eh, buddy?" He jostled an unresponsive Patrick with his elbow. The boat-mobile turned out of the parking lot and onto the road.

* * *

Evening fell upon Jellyfish Fields. As the moon shone high and bright over the highlands, clams could be heard singing their aching songs and old corals groaned under the weight forgotten jelly. The breeze swirled over the hills.

Soft grasses rustled as the cool ocean breeze as passed over the corpse of the seven-spotted jellyfish.


	2. As the Carton Falls

**Chapter One:**

_Present Day_

* * *

Early mornings were never rough when there was work to go to—in fact, they were positively easy. Before the Sun had barely begun to make its appearance in the eastern sea, SpongeBob was already far down the road and on his way to one of his favourite places in all of Bikini Bottom: the Krusty Krab. Though he'd only been working there a couple of years, SpongeBob could not imagine his life without the dingy restaurant and its two other employees.

Picking up his pace, SpongeBob turned the corner to see her in full glory, the new Sun bathing the worn siding of the building in pale yellow light. He had always admired the design of the Krusty Krab. It managed to be at once both rustic and modern, unique and conservative—welcoming folks of all sort to have a taste of the renowned Krabby Patty.

Unlocking the frigid doors, he entered the space before him and let out a sigh of relief. After a long weekend, the restaurant, now dark and cold, still welcomed SpongeBob like an old friend. Throwing his scarf and hat in the corner of the front desk, he put on the sole article of his uniform, his Krusty Krab employee's cap. And then he set to work.

First, he had to mop the floors, wipe down the tables, and dust off the front desk; he then moved into the kitchen, where he poured fresh kelp oil into the fryers and cut fresh tomatoes, lettuce, and cheese. His last job of the morning, before he manned the grill, was to fill the meat grinder.

The meat grinder was a large machine in the back room of the Krusty Krab in which only the finest cuts of sea beef would enter. From the back room, SpongeBob poured in a day's worth of meat, stored in the freezer and left to thaw overnight. Into the machine he added spices and, of course, the secret formula—creating patties en masse ensued that Mr. Plankton would have less of a chance of discovering the contents of said formula. This system was implemented years ago, before SpongeBob had even begun to work at the restaurant. Although he'd never questioned it (as Mr. Krabs knew best, obviously) he had sometimes wondered if the method affected the quality of the patties produced.

As SpongeBob added the last pinch of salt, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, and heard Mr. Krabs chuckle. "Scared ya, didn't I, me boy?" the veteran chortled in his scratchy voice. SpongeBob laughed in spite of himself.

"Good morning, Mr. Krabs."

"Ahoy me boy! Another day another dollar, eh?" He slapped SpongeBob on the back. "Better start on the grill, there, no? We'll be open in ten."

"Right on it!" SpongeBob said happily.

"Good." And with that, his boss scuttled off, whistling an old sailor's tune. SpongeBob smiled. While he liked having the restaurant to himself, he always felt the best when there was someone around to tell him what to do. He made his way to the kitchen, trusty spatula in hand.

The grill was a comfort. As the weather became cooler, SpongeBob could always rely on the warmth of the stove to heat his stiff hands and uncomfortable clothes. He edged closer to it, taking in the familiar smell of old grease and charred patties. Not yet a single customer, and the kitchen of the Krusty Krab already felt like home. It was good to be back.

He heard the front doors open and close. SpongeBob peeked over the order window to see a familiar blue-green figure saunter in, shivering from the cold. He grinned.

"Hey, Squidward!"

"Hello, SpongeBob," said Squidward drily. His bottom tentacles made faint squelching noises as he walked across the old floorboards to the ordering boat. He heard him sigh. "Would you _quit_ leaving your stuff in here?" SpongeBob blushed as his scarf and hat were thrown through the window and onto the kitchen floor.

"Eh, sorry, pal. Won't happen again! I promise."

Squidward's blue face appeared in the small gap. "Sure," he said, rolling his eyes and putting on his Krusty Krab hat. As he did so, SpongeBob could not help to stare at Squidward's worn face. Today he seemed more…tired than usual. Dark, heavy bags defined his bloodshot eyes, and the characteristic frown on his wide mouth was even more pronounced than usual. SpongeBob had had a feeling that his friend was going through a rough period lately—from the low, unmotivated slouch in his slow walk to the lack of terrible clarinet playing he had so often used to hear weekday evenings. SpongeBob stared at the floor awkwardly.

"So, Squid. You look, uh, pretty tired. Everything all right?" he asked, trying to keep a casual tone. He didn't want Squidward to think he was being nosy, or feel uncomfortable in his presence. After all, Squidward often thought of him as only a nuisance; SpongeBob knew he would feel awkward if he understood the level of empathy he felt for his friend.

For a moment Squidward faltered; his mouth opened slightly, his eyes squinted a little…and then the moment was gone. The squid's eyes hardened. "I'm perfectly fine, SpongeBob. The only thing I'm _tired_ of is wasting my life in this minimum wage hellhole." And with that, he turned to face the restaurant.

For a moment, SpongeBob was taken aback. That was most certainly _not_ the case. But he wouldn't pressure him; if Squidward needed help, he'd come to him in time, he thought. Not only did he pity Squidward—for his lost aspirations, for his lack of confidence, for his complete and utter melancholy—but he worried about him, too. All the time.

Squidward was one of his dearest friends. And by golly would he not sit back and do nothing when a person he loved was suffering.


End file.
